A/N: I'm super stoked to post this chapter. Finally some Paris action! Curious to see what you guys think. Enjoy XxX
Beta love to the amazing LeanaM
Shout out to the reviewers: LightofEvolution, spiritofsilence, Pokemark17, Zillawisp, RZZMG, meruhime, gracelessglory, pawsrule, JuliSt, Deliberatee, ahhrreader, thorri, mega700201, sassanech, LordXaero, NeverlandFunhouse, Cheryl, SereniteRose, Jarno, Arendora, Tinee Dancer, Ppsh, Pharies, Grigiogirl,and the guests!
~oOo*oOo~
Hermione felt tarted up.
The black Herve Leger bandage dress that was too small for Parvati was still very tight on her. The halter straps tied around her neck made her feel vulnerable somehow. It was far too short, punctuated by the heels that consisted only of a single strap and were an inch too high. She adorned her wrist with the silver and turquoise bracelet Parvati had also cast aside. It was simple and subtle and...everything she had. She'd performed the hair straightening charm she knew so well with practiced ease on herself. Her hair hung much longer than she had remembered it being. It swept past her shoulders and down the back of her dress. She grabbed a lock of hair and pinned it to the right side of her head. That was about as much style as she could come up with.
Hermione knew she was no raving beauty—clearly. But she had made an effort at least.
The last step was applying the mascara, which she immediately mucked up and smeared under her eyelids. Dabbing her mistakes away with a flick of her wand, she managed to get most of it on her lashes. Though they were all relatively subtle changes, the figure staring back at her through the mirror threw her. She was so dolled up, she could almost pass for one of Parkinson's minions. It had taken her all of fifteen minutes to get ready, but she may as well be walking out that door a different person.
Chances were, she would run into Parkinson and all her minions before the night was up. She strapped her wand to a garter-holster on her thigh, just in case. She hadn't been practicing with Harry for nothing.
Taking a deep breath, she gathered all her courage to walk out the door with some semblance of confidence. Harry would be on the other side waiting. Hermione tried not to think about all of the looks that passed between them...the surreptitious glances...his innocent brushes against her. The man appeared to have some sort of attraction for her, even though the idea seemed like an impossibility in itself. He'd been friendly to her in a buddy sort of way since the night before, as if that could somehow erase the tension between them. Maybe he was worried he would scare her off.
But would he?
Hermione wasn't sure how she'd react to another one of his advancements. If the last time was any indication, she would be torn between fleeing and melting. Actually, she might be more prone to melting after actually allowing herself to do it the first time and carrying that memory with her. It would take an Obliviation to get her to forget. It had been quite easy to relent, and very much worth it. Now Hermione was intrigued, and that was dangerous. The only thing that kept her back was her concern that she was again being somehow played in all of this. The notion was becoming sillier by the moment, as Harry had proved time and time again that he was a man of his word, but there was still that nagging voice in the back of her head that wouldn't quite let her relax with him.
She gave herself one last once- over in the mirror and turned for the door.
He was sitting on one of the white chairs, idly twirling his wand along his fingers in a practiced way, before he heard her arrive.
He looked up and his eyes darkened, as he leaned forward with all the grace of a highborn. His gaze strayed to the hem of her dress and she unconsciously rubbed her legs together. Sweet Circe, but his stare left a fiery trail in its wake. If she hoped she was strong enough to risk another advancement - if she should be so lucky! - that hope was shattered because she currently desired only to explore more of those feelings and sensations he'd summoned from her before.
Legs suddenly feeling like they were made of jelly, she wobbled in her too-high heels.
He got to his feet and strolled over to her so quickly it made her head spin. "Ready?"
Strained. Why did his voice go from rich and carefree one minute, to strained and rough the next? More importantly, why did she find his voice so unbearably arousing?
She gave a jerky nod and took the arm he extended to her, lest she make a fool out of herself and waver on her feet again.
He guided them to the Floo and Hermione tried not to inhale because Merlin, he'd put on some cologne and damned if the scent rolling off of him wasn't meant to ruin a woman. She looked up from underneath her lashes to find his perfectly styled hair tucked behind his ear without a lock out of place. A pinstriped dress shirt peeked out of the collar of his black dress jacket and, by the Founders, how the man could wear clothes well. She suddenly had a vision of herself curling her arm around his neck and dipping her head to lick a stripe down the line of his jaw until she reached his neck.
A furious blush crawled up her neck at the entertainment of such a wicked thought.
She didn't know where it came from or how that struck her as a good idea or even if he would like something like that. She was no minx, and would get a resounding Troll if she ever took a course in the art of seduction.
As if he could feel her staring, he darted a glance her way before she could duck her eyes again. She couldn't look away from the intensity of his stare if she tried. She was trapped, and what was he seeing? Her wicked thoughts? Her stained cheeks? Her desire?
The hand anchoring her arm wound its way to her hip, and flexing his fingers over the soft fabric of her dress, he possessively tugged her closer. She made a sound of surprise when her head collided with his shoulder. All she longed to do was keep it there. She wanted to stretch and arch and writhe in his grip and where had such urges come from? She hastened her step to keep up with his pace as they entered through the white marble Floo.
Swept up in green flames the color of his eyes, she clung on to his arm through the duration of their short trip. How would she ever make such a journey on her own? She needed something solid and toned to hold on to, just to stay grounded.
They stepped out into a lobby made up of black wood. The lavish archways were accented by blue and gold crown molding. A blue carpet edged in gold ran the length of the hardwood floor.
The crowd of people clamoring to get into the tall double doors could have become easily overwhelming, if it hadn't been for the wizard on her side leading the way. He seemed to innately command respect and people actually moved out of the way for him. Even the way he walked was sexy—predatory yet casual. A giddy sigh escaped her throat.
Hermione could laugh at herself for worrying that he might inherit some of the teasing she often experienced just by choosing to show up with her. When he'd told her he would protect her, it was clear to her now that he was more than capable of following through on his word. She couldn't fathom how anyone would dare cross him, for fear of the intimidating magic he wore around him like a dark cloak alone.
He pushed them towards the entrance of Le Château with single-minded focus, as if the Elixir of Immortality could be found on the other side. They bypassed many clubbers in his pursuit to the front, before he finally came to a halt before the burly wizards who flanked the door.
"Ready to dance, Hermione," he whispered into her ear, tickling her and inciting little sparks of electricity to whisper down her spine.
She instinctively pressed her head to her shoulder, as if that would quell the fluttering feeling in her neck. In the dim light, his eyes appeared close to black as he appraised her darkly.
"I-I can't dance, Harry. Remember?"
Hadn't she already told him so? He'd said it was fine. He promised they could sit and he would get her a flute of Champagne and they would make their appearance for as long as etiquette dictated before hightailing it back to the sanctuary of their suite.
The dark inflection of his laugh sent shivers down her body all over again. "That's right. I do recall you saying something…"
He didn't appear put off or concerned, but she still felt guilty. Surely Harry could be going with a girl much better suited than herself. Someone who came from money, like him, who knew the ways of the elite, who dressed herself to the nines, and whose voice dripped with sensuality. He needed that sort of girl to entertain him, not her. She hardly measured up.
The idea caused her throat to clog with unshed tears.
It was only seconds later that they were ushered in through the entrance, and then...they entered another world.
The throng of people waiting to get in on the outside paled in comparison to the crowd already crammed in on the inside. The club had three stacked levels she could only make out when a streak of a speeding star raced across the enchanted ceiling. The ceiling appeared to mimic outer space, complete with distant planets and supernovas all moving before her eyes. The first floor was the liveliest—it was where all the dancers congregated. The top two floors that edged all the way around the room in a square shape had numerous loungers and seating around tables of shimmering bottles. Hermione saw a tower of hovering Champagne flutes decorated around a fountain in the middle of the lounge area. Extravagant lighting graced the walls, and upon further inspection, Hermione noticed fairies were trapped inside the sconce fixtures, their dazzling wings lighting up the perimeter in an eerie sort of glow.
Hermione had no time to be outraged by this, as Harry was pushing her further into the club and straight into the mill of dancers. She locked her legs, refusing to be swept up in the chaos.
"We need to cut through them to get to the tables." There was that whisper again, albeit high pitched this time, over the cacophony of noise. It was hard to keep her head upright.
Heart pounding in her chest and fear sparking through her at the presence of so many unknown variables, she gave a brief nod and allowed Harry to push her forward.
The music was deafening. So loud -impossibly so - and pounding through her skull. It didn't make sense. There were just too many instruments...too many harmonies...it was too electric or something. But somehow it came together to produce something other-worldly.
Her senses overloaded as she brushed against so many people in an effort to get away from the crowd. She guessed that they had so far managed to only get into the thickest part of it. Bodies were closing in on her on all sides, and she would have panicked if it hadn't been for Harry by her side, tugging her along, but at the same time balancing her so she didn't trip on her ridiculous heels.
She took comfort in his presence next to her, but then he suddenly wasn't there. The room began to spin. Glancing to the left and then to the right, she could only make out faceless people, so knackered out of their minds they didn't even notice the suddenly abandoned girl about to have a panic attack.
He had only been missing for a second before she found strong hands come up to grip her waist, and pull her back against a Quidditch-toned body with a possessiveness that overwhelmed her. Harry's intoxicating scent drifted into her nostrils and with it came a sense of safety.
"Anyone can dance, Hermione." The way he sang her name rang out above all the chaotic sounds. His nose scraped against her scalp before she felt the ghost of his breath on her ear again. "Just...move...with the music."
He pulled her against him harder still, and she gasped at the contact. His arms twisted around her until they rested on her stomach and Hermione felt her nipples go taut under the fabric of her dress. He was...too much. Moving her with him, he guided her in a slow rhythm, swaying both of their hips as he rocked them.
Spurred on by the patient stroke of his fingertips, she began to relax eventually, finding that it was easier to move in such a fashion the more at ease she was.
"You tricked me!" she couldn't help but tell him, but her voice was lost over the crowd and the music and facing the wrong direction.
She couldn't bring herself to be angry. Hermione was getting used to her heels and anticipating the movements he was teaching her. Moving on her own, Harry relinquished the pressure of his grip ever so slightly and allowed his hands to wander from her stomach to her hips and then back again. Bending her knees and straightening them, she learned how to move in harmony with the electric beat of the music, and soon it became easy to do so.
"Such a fast-learner," he crooned into her ear.
Hermione smiled at the praise and let her head fall back into his chest. He swiftly dropped his head to the crook of her neck and took a deep inhale of her skin, causing pleasure to spike through her body.
She bit back a gasp of delight as he continued nuzzling her neck...her jaw...the side of her ear...her hair...his hands constantly wandering in the same pattern. So much for keeping my distance, she thought giddily. Comfortable, Hermione submitted to his ministrations...to the movement...to her heart. She moved of her own volition like she'd been doing so for ages. Pressing back against him, her breathing became labored. He would move and she would chase the movement, their dance evolving to something natural and effortless.
"So beautiful." His tongue darted out to taste the shell of her ear and she let out a sharp, short whimper.
Arching her back, she brushed against him, pressing up against something hard as steel. Her mouth fell open as burning desperation spread between her thighs.
"Harry," she breathed, reaching her right hand over her head to wrap around his neck. Her left hand trailed down to where one of his hands secured her and she placed it lightly over his wrist. He felt so good moving behind her. "Oh, God."
"So fucking perfect," he told her, voice hoarse.
He dared his hands higher and Hermione flexed out her chest. Yes! She silently begged. Touch me there. Her breasts were aching, and they'd never felt that way before, like she had to have them touched or else she would die. She brushed against him again, her dancing turning to writhing, and he growled in her ear. Rubbing her thighs together, her eyes fluttered shut. Kiss me. Open your mouth against my neck, she silently begged. His lips dragged across her skin, pausing over hammering pulse points, but he did not swipe his tongue out to taste her as she was dying for him to.
If this was dancing, then she'd certainly been missing out on a crucial part of life.
Her body was alive and humming with need. She had the strongest urge to turn around and face her former tormentor, the man that had found new and welcoming ways to torture her. If she saw those sharp green eyes at that instant, she'd probably lose it. She was so tightly strung, she felt like the most natural course of action would be to snap, but with that desire came concern that she would lose all control, right here on the dance floor in a foreign city, in front of the elite. It was madness. Harry. What are you doing to me? She breathed in the heady scent of his musk. I'm going mad.
Harry was probably the most powerful wizard in this place, and he was choosing to be here with her, above all others. He'd invited her and he'd yet to even meet up with his friends. They'd wasted the day away, had an extravagant dinner high in the trees, and Hermione wasn't even thinking about the fact that she should be asleep by now. All she wanted to do was stay in his arms where it was safe and she could do anything. She could very possibly stay out the entire night with him.
He pressed his lips down into her neck, holding her securely against him as he did so. He dragged his lips back and forth, and Hermione braced herself when he opened his mouth, his hot breath teasing her flushed skin. If you do that, it's over. I won't be able to take that, Harry...it's too much. His fingers stilled, one hand on her stomach and the other at her waist, and tightened. The strain was back, the intuitive feeling she got when he was at war with his control was there. She was suspended in air and awaiting his next move.
"Isn't this cozy?"
Hermione's eyes snapped open at the sound of that voice. Behind her, Harry stilled.
The imposing figure perched a hand on her hip, her silver sequin dress sparkling under the enchanted ceiling and fairy lights, her matching heels an inch higher than Hermione's. Red hair fell in long, perfect waves down her chest. Though he was no longer whispering in her ear, Hermione thought she heard fucking Ginevra uttered behind her.
"Harry." Ginny shook her head reproachfully at him with Hermione caught in the middle. "Have you gone and developed a taste for trash since your breakup?"
Harry straightened behind her, but left one hand carelessly draped around Hermione's waist. "I'm sorry, Ginevra," he drawled in a tone she'd almost forgotten he was capable of. "Still reeling from your breakup?"
"Actually." A wicked gleam passed over her eyes. "Blaise, darling," she called over the music, the sound of her voice grating to Hermione's ears.
The Slytherin in question broke away from a wizard he was talking to and sidled up to her. "What is it, my fiery little minx?"
Dread began to well in the pit of Hermione's stomach. In between the concern for herself, the thought of poor Parvati flitted across her mind.
Weasley didn't answer, but merely leveled her cool stare at them.
The picture of casualness, Blaise glanced in their direction, before recoiling as if he'd been struck by a snake. "Holy fuck!"
Weasley grinned ruefully. "My thoughts exactly. Isn't this quite the turn of events?"
"Harry?" Zabini asked him hopefully, "Care to explain?"
Harry's arm went taut around Hermione's waist. "Explain what?" he spat. "What the actual fuck? Did you wake up today and start thinking I need to answer to you?" He jutted his chin in the air, as if daring Zabini to probe further. "Like I told the Weaselette's brother: I can do whatever the fuck I want. It would be good for your health if the lot of you remembered that."
Hermione's mouth dropped, right along with Ginevra and Zabini. Harry had thrown a threat into the air as easily as if he were reciting Quidditch scores. By the looks on their faces, Hermione would guess his friends were floored by Harry's aggressive demeanor.
"Fuck." Zabini threw his hands in the air. "Shit, Harry, you know I don't care. Just a bit weird is all."
The redhead turned her irate stare onto Zabini. "Really? He gets off that easily?" She wrinkled her nose at Harry. "I swear to Godric, anyone who can claim an ounce of House Black gets away with bloody murder."
"Don't be jealous, darling," Harry told her carelessly, as he begun pulling Hermione further out of the crowd and towards the stairs from which Ginevra had come. "Green doesn't suit you."
Ginny blanched, before recovering and shooting Hermione a look of pure malice. Hermione suddenly became conscious of her too-tight dress and tarted up eyes. The lot of them would be convinced she was trying to appear like something she was not. Maybe they would all accuse her of slipping Harry a love potion? Really, maybe someone had slipped him one. It would explain the odd behavior and why he was suddenly over keeping up his reputation.
She could only follow reluctantly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable and quite rumpled, as he led her up the stairs to where the who's who of the elite congregated on the much-coveted upper levels. She couldn't shake the feeling she was entering into a pit of snakes.
~oOo*oOo~
Everyone had backed off.
Everyone save Malfoy.
Even Parkinson - to her credit - was checking her disdain.
But Harry was under constant scrutiny from Malfoy.
It would appear Harry's choice in women was disconcerting to the platinum blond Slytherin. He frequently caught Malfoy glancing over at them discreetly, as he sipped his firewhisky. Harry inwardly cursed. Wasn't Malfoy supposed to be hammered, or knackered out of his mind by now? Why was he putting Harry under the microscope, that pretentious fuck. Perhaps he'd like to duel him, and challenge Harry in that way? He'd better not be making Hermione uncomfortable.
Harry attempted to appear careless and unconcerned as he sipped his drink. The picture of fucking ease and all for the Ferret's benefit.
He could bloody well kill Ginevra.
It would figure his wife-in-another-world would be the one to interfere—right when he was making progress! He had finally succeeded in getting Hermione to unwind...to let her guard down around him and...fuck. She hadn't just let her guard down, she'd submitted...melted into him even. Harry's skin had sung at the feel of her so tightly pressed against him. For a minute she was free and no burdens had weighed her down and so he was free in return. What a vision she made.
In that hot little black number. Those high heels. Hair unbound.
Harry could kick himself. It had been good that Ginevra had shown up when she did, because Hermione was letting him and she didn't appear to be stopping him anytime soon, and fuck...would Harry really have pushed it any further? Surely he had more control than that. She just had an intoxicating effect on him.
For fuck sake, they'd played chess all night after dinner! It had been - for the most part - platonic. It wasn't until she'd gone into that mansion of a bathroom and come out again - only ten minutes later - that the air between them had suddenly changed. It wasn't just what she was wearing, it was how she acted. Nervous...but excited. Like she expected him to ravish her, and he'd be happy to oblige. Looking at him as if she liked what she saw...as if she imagined what they could do. Harry definitely liked what he saw—Hermione was a knockout. The girl had it all and it was barmy that something so inconsequential as blood purity could be holding her back. Completely nutters.
Though, looking around the room, it didn't seem like blood purity was on any of the wizard's minds currently. No, that didn't appear to be a prevalent concern. Harry had invited her - brought her - flaunted her and now the dumbfucks were finally realizing what had been there all the time. All it took was actually seeing her, and not just dismissing her as unworthy of being noticed.
Fucking Ron.
"Here you go, Granger." The ginger-headed failure passed her a third cocktail, as if he meant to get her plastered. Like he would then somehow stand a chance. "Just let me know if you need another." He flashed her a freckle-faced smile that made Harry's gut twist.
"Thank you, Weasley," came her soft reply.
Harry's fingers itched to wrap around her shoulders, stake his claim in front of everyone and let them know - just in case they forgot - she was his. There would be no sharing.
"Didn't see you all day," Malfoy remarked, arching a delicate brow.
"Are you my keeper?" Harry couldn't help but ask.
Malfoy smirked, as if merely amused by Harry's aggression. "You didn't meet us at the hotel bar like you usually do."
"I was busy."
Blond eyebrows rose to his hairline. The Ferret glanced at Hermione again and Harry fought back his rapidly splintering control. He took another swig of the firewhisky. At this rate, he was going to drink as much in a night as he used to back in his world. He needed to rein it in. But Hermione was drinking...and had she even tried alcohol before? Harry didn't know, but he didn't want her to overindulge. Though it did seem to be having somewhat of a positive effect. Her nerves had visibly calmed. She seemed much more at ease in his circle of friends even with their incessant gocking.
Thomas took out a potion vial and began pouring it on the table. To Harry's surprise it appeared to be in powder form. A sick feeling welled up in his stomach. Thomas flicked his wand and the powder formed a long line spanning the width of the table. He flashed a fifty pound Muggle note in the air.
"Who'd like to go first?"
His so-called friends clamored to their feet and took turns passing the note around and leaning down to snort the powdered potion.
Fuck.
When the line was too far in the center, Pansy climbed up on the table in her tiny red dress on her hands and knees to take a large sniff. Harry watched, appalled, rapidly trying to figure out how to diffuse a potentially hazardous situation when it came to be their turn.
"Granger?" Pansy was the picture of innocence as she offered Hermione the rolled up note, as if she were a gracious hostess or something.
"Oh...um...no thanks." Hermione stared distastefully at the blatant drug use everyone at the table was participating in. "I have a cold."
Harry couldn't help but smirk. Clever.
Pansy gave a flippant twist of her shoulders and passed the note to Malfoy. Harry looked away, busy trying to build up some excuse.
When Malfoy offered the pound to him, Harry made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I'm good."
"Good?" Malfoy echoed.
"Yeah, as in no-fucking-thank-you."
Malfoy merely shook his head, casting him a sideways glance as if he wasn't sure who exactly he was dealing with. The Slytherin walked past Harry to the railing and peered down at the dancers below.
Sensing he needed to join him, Harry sighed and rose from his seat, shooting a glance at Hermione to make sure she was okay, but she was having an engaging conversation with Patil and didn't seem to be in any terrible danger. He walked up to the rail and rested his forearms against it.
"What's up with you lately?" Malfoy didn't bother looking at him as he stared out into the throng of people.
"Nothing," Harry assured him. "I'm just not into some things anymore. It happens." He shrugged.
"You were into those things a month ago." Malfoy turned the heat of his silver stare on Harry. "Do things change that quickly?"
Harry grappled for the right words as he met his friend's gaze. "I had a heart to heart with Sirius. He made me rethink certain pastimes I used to indulge in, that's all."
"Uncle Sirius said this?"
"In so many words."
"Did he also say to frolick in the dirt with a Mudblood?"
Harry grabbed Malfoy's collar so quickly, he barely had seconds to register what he was doing. "What the fuck is it to you?"
Malfoy looked more excited than scared. "Just curious. It's very out of character on your part."
Releasing his grip, Harry desperately searched for some line of defense that didn't involve pummeling his alleged friend. "Call it a passing fetish." He spat the words out like bile. "Besides, I'm finding out more and more about myself the less dependent on potions I am. I don't want to be dependent on anything. Being dependent is weak."
When all else fails, fall back on the truth.
Malfoy's eyes widened, as if slightly impressed. "I suppose that makes sense," he relented. "The Granger business still doesn't quite add up. I think your godfather would be angry."
"Sirius doesn't get angry. Besides, the only input he's ever had on my conquests is why don't I share in on the loot? He's not the type to care, Draco."
"I know that's true."
Some of the doubt had left his accusatory stare, and Harry felt confident enough to turn back to the table.
He instantly paled when his eyes scanned the table.
Patil was gone and Brown was leaning on Hermione's shoulder as if they were old friends. Greengrass sat on the other side of her, cackling loudly at something Brown was whispering. Pansy was sitting straight across from Hermione, their knees practically touching, leaning forward so much she was clearly invading Hermione's space. Hermione looked like she wanted to shrink into the cushion behind her.
Harry bolted for the table.
"So what is it, Mudblood?" Pansy was asking. "Slip him something like the dirty little Mudblood you are, or what?"
"Look at what she's wearing?" Lavender fingered the halter strap of Hermione's dress. "Bought it from a Muggle charity shop?"
"Don't you have anything better to do?" Hermione asked them pointedly. She tried to wrench away from Brown, which only sent her careening into Greengrass. "This charade is really getting old."
Weasley sat and leered from the sidelines, a crazed look of enjoyment plastered on his face.
"And this pathetic bracelet." Greengrass fingered the silver bangle on Hermione's wrist, choosing to ignore her. "It's not even suitable for a house elf, much less a witch."
"I heard your mummy is poor." A dark gleam passed over Pansy's eyes. "You have to use Hogwarts grants to get your school supplies." She pouted her lips in mock sympathy. "She's probably a drunk too."
Hermione stood so fast, the two girls crowding into her fell to the cushions with a surprised laugh. Pansy reeled back as Hermione flashed her wand and pointed it at the Slytherin girl's throat. Pansy sobered up slightly as she eyed the wand, raising her hands to show she was defenseless.
"Why don't you just sod off, Parkinson?" Hermione pressed the tip of her wand to Pansy's throat. "I've taken all the flak I'm going to from you."
"Threatening a Pureblood," Pansy drawled lightly, though her eyes were sharp as a talon. "I do believe that's illegal."
"Shall I take her place?" Harry asked, wand flicking over his wrist in a threatening gesture. "You can't threaten a witch, and not expect retribution, Pans, or did you forget we're on the continent now? Besides, I thought you promised to play friendly."
Pansy pushed Hermione's wand away and faced Harry defiantly. "She's a cow, Harry. And she's done something to you, I'm sure." Beneath the menace, there was true concern in her eyes.
"Or you just can't get over the fact that anyone, particularly a Muggle-born, can come after you."
Hurt sparked through her eyes and Harry may have felt an ounce of guilt if he wasn't so close to casting an Avada.
Something wet and cold landed on his shoulder. Irritated, he glanced up to see snow falling to from the ceiling. Of all the stupid things. The club was now raining down fake snow on the occupants.
"Everyone just calm the fuck down." Malfoy ordered, quickly taking over control. "And Weasley, what the fuck? You're really going to let them go at it and sit there and do nothing?"
"I love a good catfight," Weasley told them with no remorse.
"Let whoever wants to fight it out, do so tomorrow at the duels." Malfoy shook his head as if dealing with squabbling infants. "It's what cultured witches and wizards do. Honestly, have some class."
"I don't think people can just wake up with it," Nott pointed out. "It's something you're born with."
Harry felt his nails digging crescent moons into the skin of his palm. Malfoy took one look, and spoke to Harry in a low tone. "Take Granger home." The Slytherin tried to give Harry a reassuring smile. "And a word of advice? Spend some galleons on your side-quim before you bring her in front of these vipers. It's only fair to her."
Harry's rage pulsated, but there was no use taking it out on Malfoy. The wizard at least meant well with his unwelcome - but admittedly wise - advice.
Hermione still gripped her wand, but it was safely by her side. Harry reached to pull her away from the various levels of inebriated, fucked up idiots who infested the area.
"Come on, babe." The endearment just slipped out of its own accord. He saw Hermione flush red, just about as uncharacteristically red as Pansy became behind her. "There's a fucking snowstorm in here for some reason and it's killing the vibe."
Eyes wide as saucers, Hermione trailed behind him. She made a picture, navigating through the club with snow falling around her, Pansy glaring daggers behind them. The flakes vanished before they could stick to the ground or to the dancing people. Harry resisted the urge to run the two of them out of the club. He desperately wanted to return to the safety of their room. How could a night that had started off so perfectly ended in such a cluster? He was quite sure he had his fill of wizarding clubs.
~oOo*oOo~
